


Living with Someone Who Knows How

by posingasme



Category: Supernatural
Genre: F/M, Gen, Hunterverse, Post-Episode: s11e11 Into the Mystic, s11 divergent
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-01
Updated: 2016-07-01
Packaged: 2018-07-19 11:05:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,574
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7358680
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/posingasme/pseuds/posingasme
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean is broken when Sam is able to destroy Amara. The past decade of fighting has worn on him, and he realizes that this time, he's really, truly done with the life. But he isn't done with living.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Living with Someone Who Knows How

In the end, Sam had done it. He had promised to, and Sam had never broken his word, not to him. Dean had played his role, and Sam had sent The Darkness back where She belonged, in oblivion. It had torn Dean's heart from his chest. 

Not even Dean, who had felt the sinister, inescapable connection between him and Amara, could have known how Her loss would crush him. It wasn't fair. It wasn't fair at all. Dean was a hunter, and-dammit-he was a good man. He had helped to save the world more times than he really wanted to count. It would have been easier if She had loathed him, taunted him, stalked him, the way Abaddon had. 

Abaddon. She was the bitch that started it all. She was the one who stole Henry from his son, who made John grow up thinking his father had abandoned him and Millie Winchester. She was the one who had destroyed the Men of Letters. Who knew how John’s life might have been different...She had forced Dean to take the Mark to stop her, which had forced Sam to find the cure, which of course had released The Darkness, whose defeat had cost Dean more dearly than he could have expressed to Sam even if he had wanted to try. 

He didn't try. He didn't need to. That was one thing about Sam. He knew Dean, and he knew how this thing had ripped something from him that couldn't heal. Sam had let him haunt the halls of the bunker for a long time without bothering him. 

Dean didn't know how long he had wandered aimlessly, how many days or weeks, before words started playing in his head. They were quiet at first, barely whispered breaths, but they crept into his mind and kept sighing at him until he listened. 

“When's the last time you watched a sunset without waiting for something to go bump in the night?”

He heard these words slip and slide through the tangled alleyways of his memories, until they were all he could hear. 

“When's the last time you watched a sunset without waiting for something to go bump in the night?”

They followed him through his nightmares, and chased him through every surreal dream. 

Then suddenly the voice said something new. 

“And then my heart said, well, you're done.”

It was the middle of the night. He sat up slowly and took a breath, and he realized it was the first full breath he had taken since Amara’s defeat. 

“I'm done,” he murmured into the dark. “I'm really done.” 

Sam thought he was crazy, but he helped him anyway, because he was Sam. It took nearly two months to track down Patrick, during which time Sam pointed out that there were other ways to do this, but Dean insisted on it. When he smiled at his brother before walking into the bar’s back room, Sam tried to smile too, and failed terribly. 

“Dean, this is...You don't have to do this. And you don't have to do it this way!”

He appreciated that Sam still tried one last time to talk him out of it. “I know. But the idea got in my head, and...It's what I want, Sammy. It's the only way it'll work. You know that. We tried it the normal way, both of us. And we each got pulled back in by the other. This is my only chance of getting out, unless I'm willing to let Cas rip my memories away, and even then, what's to stop a bunch of demons from digging deep enough to get something out of me? No, this is the only way I'm out of the game and nobody finds me.”

Sam nodded quietly. “Never thought you'd ever really want out,” he admitted softly. “If it didn't work with Lisa, I guess I figured you'd never try to get out again. Never figured I'd be the one begging you not to retire.”

“Sammy, you know what it's like to be done. To want out.”

He sighed. “Yeah,” he said hoarsely. “That's why I ain't arguing. I'm just asking. Please don't do this.”

“I'm done, Sam. My heart said, well, you're done. I had my fill, and it's time I retired.”

His brother shrugged helplessly. “Well? You earned it. I'll never guilt you about it. You saved so many folks along the way, you deserve-”

“-to watch a sunset without waiting for something to go bump in the night,” he finished. 

Sam frowned, but nodded. “Yeah. I guess.”

Dean put his arms around his brother, and pounded him on the back gently. “I'll be out in a few minutes. Get a drink. It won't take long.”

Patrick wasn't as surprised to see him as he had hoped. The sound of cards shuffling and the click of a toothpick on enamel were the only sounds. “My friend,” he greeted him. “You're looking younger than ever,” he snapped. 

The hunter smiled. “Not for long. Deal me in.”

Intelligent eyes looked him over, and Dean finally got a flash of surprise out of them. Patrick grinned. “Gentlemen, I have a very special guest, and if I'm not wrong, he has a very special request. Please excuse me for the length of a game.”

Two men glanced at one another and shrugged. “Wipe my debt, and I'll go,” one suggested. 

The witch nodded. “Done. Go.”

Dean waited until they had scrambled out the door, then sat warily. “Last time we ran into each other, your less witchy half Lia took a dive. Now, you're clear on whose idea that was, right? Not ours.”

Patrick smiled sourly, and something in his eyes looked haunted. “Aye. Lia was done.”

“So am I.”

Those eyes were seeing through him. “I made it clear last time, Dean. I'm a gambler. Not a murderer.”

“My second heart attack would argue that point.”

Patrick snickered, and shifted his toothpick. “Did I give you your heart attack then? No. I just let you have it.” He laughed a bit. “And that was your second one? You need to reconsider your diet of cheeseburgers.”

Dean found himself laughing too. The immense relief at having made his decision made everything feel lighter. “The first one was when I got electrocuted while frying a redcap who liked to steal kids. Nearly had another a few years later, when I contracted ghost sickness on a job.”

“Ghost sickness! Nasty business!”

He was enjoying this. How often did he get the chance to chat about his greatest hits? “You ain't kidding. Keeping the world safe from creeps like you is hard work.”

The witch smirked at him. “I hear you ran into the Starks a while back.”

“Friends of yours?”

“Hardly, though I have respect for their power.”

Dean thought back to his encounter with the feuding spouses. He shuddered. “Yeah. Me too. Don zapped a Leviathan without getting his hands dirty. Imagine there ain't a lot of folks who could do that.”

“Rowena could have.” Patrick raised an eyebrow. He had begun shuffling absently. 

“I'm told she won't be doing any more zapping, what with the Devil having snapped her in half and all.”

Patrick seemed to take some pleasure in this. “Poor ambitious Rowena,” he muttered in a way that made it clear he had no sympathy. “Now then. You aren't here to gain years, and you know I won't kill you. So why are you at my table?”

“I'm done hunting. I'm not done living.” He snorted softly. “In fact, I haven't even started yet. Look, when you win a game, when you take some poor schmuck’s chips, you don't age backward. You just add them on somehow. Am I right?”

The witch nodded. “That's so.”

“Right. Okay. I want you to do that. I want you to play me, and when I lose, you transfer my years to some other folks.” 

“That's quite the request. And what, perchance, do I get out of this?”

Dean sighed, and licked his lips. “Look. I'm going to bet thirty years.”

Patrick gave a low whistle. “That would put you near seventy, I think.”

“Near,” Dean agreed. “So you take a few. Then just do me the favor of transferring a few to some of the folks I care about.”

“Thirty-one.”

He narrowed his eyes. “Are we negotiating?”

Patrick shrugged. “Thirty-one,” he insisted. “You wager and lose thirty-one years, and I'll take the one off the top as my fee. Then I'll transfer ten to each of three people. Choose wisely.”

Dean frowned. “I can't-”

“Ten each. To three people,” Patrick repeated. 

It was clearly the best deal he was going to get. He nodded. “Okay. Okay. My brother Sam gets ten.”

“Obviously.”

He lowered his eyes and swallowed with difficulty. “There's a kid. Not so much a kid anymore. But…And two kids, actually. One’s a girl, Krissy Chambers. I don't know where she is. That a problem?”

Patrick shook his head. “Not for me. I'll find her.”

Dean nodded slowly. “And the other...the other is my-my son. Ben Braedan.”

An eyebrow raised. “I'm guessing you don't know where he is either.”

There was a flinch, but he owned the pain, and nodded again. “Yeah.”

“Is he your son, Dean?”

“I don't know. I don't care. He was my son for a long time.”

“Did you know the word Ben means son?” Patrick said in a thoughtful tone. 

He snorted softly. “I didn't know that. Some of the best people I ever knew were named Ben.”

“You've lost a lot of people along the way, Dean. Makes it easier to pare down to three loved ones when most of the people you've ever known are dead. I know how that feels.”

Dean looked up in surprise at Patrick’s soft tone. “I-I guess you do…”

“That's your final decision, then?”

His mind raced. He had hoped to help Jody, and Claire and Alex, but Castiel and Sam would look after them. Donna Hanscum deserved to live forever, that wonderful fighter. There were so many gone. So many left behind. 

But when he searched his heart, those were the three he cared about most. If Patrick had made him choose one, it would have been Sam. If he had been able to choose more...But no. That was not a path worth taking. He was done, he reminded himself. These people, as much as he loved them, and would die for them, didn't need for him to live for them anymore. It was time to go. 

“Yes,” he said firmly. “That's my decision.”

Patrick smiled. “I think perhaps you're the only man I've ever known who lived as many years as I have, Dean Winchester. I hope after this game, you'll get the chance to rest.”

Dean took a deep breath of relief. “Deal the cards.”

***

He would never forget the heartache on Sam's face upon seeing him emerge from the game. But the younger-now much younger-man simply nodded. “Okay,” he choked out through a throat filled with emotion. “Let's go then.”

The ride was quiet, and Sam drove with both hands on the wheel, staring forward with grief. Dean wished he could give him some comfort. The only thing he could think to say was “Thank you, Sammy.”

Sam gripped the wheel tighter, and nodded, but it was clear that he was unable to speak. It wasn't until they reached their destination that he turned to Dean, with tired eyes filled with tears. “I hate this. But I hope it makes you happy.”

“It will,” he promised. “Call me every day, bitch.”

His brother sniffed, then laughed. “I will. Jerk.”

And he would. Because it was Sam. He would pretend he had a reason, some lore he needed to run by the old hunter, a theory about a case. They would both pretend Sam still needed his partner, when they both knew each just missed his brother. 

Sam cleared his throat. “I'm going to call Eileen Leahy. It's best to hunt with backup.”

Dean smiled at him. “I hoped you would. She's smart, Sammy. Like you.”

He nodded, and ran his hand down his face roughly. “Want me to come in?”

“No. You'll be going through town one day soon, and you can visit. Tonight, I just want to enjoy the quiet.”

“Okay. Sure. Take care of yourself, man.”

“You too, little brother. And-”

“Watch out for your wheels. I got it.”

Dean laughed a little. “I know you do.” He grabbed his bag, slung it over his shoulder, and walked away from the car without glancing back. What was left of his heart ached with the roar of his Baby, carrying his family away. But he smiled. Baby and Sam were each in one another's good hands. 

He checked into his room, citing his reservation at the front desk. Since it was the last alias he would ever use, he had thought hard on it. “Dean Colt Johnson,” he murmured confidently. They showed him the room which would be his new home. Other than the bunker and his car, it was the only home he had truly had since he was four years old. Even Lisa’s place had not fit quite right. There had been too much grief in his heart, too much alcohol in his blood. This, though. This was it. He settled in carefully, salted his windows and placed the devils trap on the underside of the rug at the door, placed his .45 in the side table, and his angel blade under the pillow. He put his photographs up on the desk where he could see them when he wanted to, then unpacked clothing into the dresser. 

When his few possessions were in order, Dean smiled at the space. Then he turned and left the room to walk down the hallway and knock on a door. 

A bright woman with chopped blond hair practically radiated warmth when she smiled at him. “Yes?”

He took a deep breath. “Mildred Baker?”

“Yes, I am.”

“Oh, I know. Look, you won't remember me-I mean, you'll remember why I was here, obviously, and I don't mean you-But it was a while ago, and I look really different now, but-”

Her stunning blue eyes widened. “Agent Os...Dean?”

He let out the breath he had been holding. “Mildred, I came to watch a sunset with you. And...and maybe one day, if you think you're up for it, maybe a sunrise too.”

Her face lit up in a beautiful smile, and Dean felt his tension and pain and guilt and grief all melt away in its wake. “But how did you get...here?” She gestured in amazement at the sixty-seven year old man before her. 

“You told me to follow my heart. That if I did that, all the rest just figures itself out.”

Mildred took hold of his hand, and this time, he didn't try to take it back. “I'm glad, Dean. I'm so glad. Come on in. The sunset should be beautiful tonight.” She winked at him mischievously. “Sunrise too, I bet.”

He couldn't help his grin as he let her lead him into her rooms. His heart sighed happily. “You're done, Winchester,” it whispered. “You've worked to do good all your life, and now it's time to start living, with someone who truly knows how. Lay your weary head to rest. You're done.”


End file.
